


Islands

by benevolens



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/M, No one pathologist is an island, Song fic, thats the saying innit?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-02
Updated: 2017-03-02
Packaged: 2018-09-27 22:41:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,088
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10054931
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/benevolens/pseuds/benevolens
Summary: Molly is upset and who's to blame? Who else....





	

**Author's Note:**

> Hiya lovelies....I know I haven't posted anything for the series I started. I promise they have more bits. I have written more, but I just need time to go over them and post. I just haven't had a moment, so, as consolation, I thought I'd post this little thing that's been sitting in my phone since the summer. 
> 
> If you're reading this...I hope you are doing well xx
> 
> P.S The song here is Islands by Young the Giant. The original is great and I really like the remix too. Whichever will do to listen to as you read this.

{All in the glow, I'll find you waiting.  
Has it been so long now?  
I thought that you knew that I'd be coming...  
The way you move,  
A foreign groove at night.  
I could never....  
I could never hold you.}

 

It always starts off the same. Some strange shores' waves crashing in front of her. She stands just close enough for the edge of waves to caress her toes and suddenly a bright light blinds her. Maybe it's the sunlight. She likes to think its the sun setting because emerging from behind the flash of light is the love of her life. 

He rises from the depths of the water, dark curls dripping wet (begging for her to run her fingers through and push them back from his eyes), oh and his eyes. His multihued gaze is always locked with hers and while she can look away and see the abstract light surrounding them, Molly is highly aware of Sherlock's focus. She feels as though her legs squeeze together in anticipation of seeing him coming closer, wet dress shirt clinging to his lean torso and his tight trousers, dripping and clutching his legs as if to become a second skin. 

He looks like a the god of the sea, emerging in search of his goddess. 

(How she wishes to be worshiped by him. The tension between her thighs increases, feeling wet.) 

All too soon (but not soon enough for her liking), he's padded barefoot to her and gripped her around her seemingly bare waist.

It's always the same.

 

After a passionate kiss that has Molly reeling and dying silently on the inside, he whispers into her softly in that rich baritone. 

"I thought that you knew that I'd be coming."

Each night she must have a look of surprise on her face, anticipating to never see the same dream again. 

The words she wants to say never seem to leave her mouth, but he clutches her close again. 

"I felt as though I could never hold you...I would never...All the years I've missed your warmth....Have you missed my warmth, Molly?" 

Molly can almost feel the way her face is pressed into his shoulder and the salty taste of the sea on her lips. 

"You aren't here. Not really. You'll leave again soon, disappear into the sea. I'll wake up and you'll be nothing more than a warm dream that's left me cold." She whispers in reply. 

This is new...

She doesnt usually remember the end, but she is sure that she has never spoken in the dream. Normally, the pressure thats built up low in her abdomen is sated by her lover and Molly can just remember the tender look of love painted in the many colours of his irises when she wakes. 

(Though, she is cold when she does. A swoop of disappointment replaces the delicious tension.) 

Her lover pulls away with sadness in his eyes and seems to be slipping from her grasp.

"You'll wait for me. Always. You promise?" He whispers, biting his lower lip with one of the most vulnerable expressions. (She's seen a look half as devastating in real life, the night he comes to her for help.) 

"I don't have a choice. I've never had a choice. I love you, Sherlock Holmes." Molly feels a different ache, persistently pressing the space between her eyes, but she holds her tears. 

As if to bring her some solace, her Sherlock smiles and slowly backs up towards the the crashing swells of water. 

"And I promise to come back. Always. To you. You know, Ill be coming, don't you, Molly?"

Her throat constricts with the knowledge that he wouldnt ever promise her anything let alone to come back for her. To her. But she can't disappoint the man that clearly loves her (figment of the mind or otherwise). 

Molly Hooper finds herself gasping awake into the darkness of her small bedroom with tears in her eyes. She rips the earbuds from her ears, wondering (yet again) why she purposefully listened to the song over and over again to induce that particular sequence (Masochist!). She wipes furiously at her eyes and cheeks with the back of her hands and fails to note several things in her downward spiral of anger, sadness, disappointment and pity. 

There is a warmth to the side of her which by the squeak of the bed and the feeling of the mattress dipping beside her indicates another soul is in the room with her. 

"Molly..." The deep, rich, velvet baritone of the man she loves with all her being whispers to her. His hot breath, she thinks, is truly caressing the skin by her ear. 

Oh god! And the heat of his large hand is pressed to the small of her back to support her. Molly turns her head to find his endless, multi-coloured eyes boring into her through the darkness. The sound of a choked sob leaves her throat and she panics as to what to say or do.  
"It's okay, Molly. It's Sherlock. Shh." He quiets her. He's comforting her. He's comforting her?  
"Nothing is wrong, Molly. Do you understand?" He keeps an evenness to his voice that send another bout of disappointment spiralling to the pit of her stomach. 

He is the love of her life.

But not her lover.

He doesnt love her like /he/ does. 

Sherlock doesnt know about the other version of him.

Molly slowly begins to realise as she starts to wake properly that her thoughts have been irrational and Sherlock...Well, the only reason he could be here was because he needed a place to stay. 

"I'm fine. Really. Bad dream." 

(A gloriously, horrendous dream that would haunt her forever it seemed.) 

"I know. You were crying the whole time. Mary--Mary told me something was off. Molly Hooper, what's wrong?" Sherlock mutters, raising a hand to leave on her cheek. 

She grabs his hand immediately, trying to tell if he was truly there, quickly releasing him. Molly shakes her head and pulls up her legs. 

"It's complicated." She has a hard time catching up with her mouth as the cliche slips out. Molly does, however, have enough sense to quickly pull the phone from between the sheets and switch off the music lest he find out.

He's quiet.

Too quiet for Sherlock, in fact. 

Suddenly, he's taken her mobile and turned his back, attempting to see no doubt what she had been listening to. The contents of her stomach roll and Sherlock has her earphones in and is listening intently. 

Molly gives up on trying to pry it from him, too tired and emotionally drained to fight. She has a fleeting thought that maybe something good would come of this, but is quick to shoot it down before her hope can burgeon in her heart.

In some form of defeat, especially when he doesnt turn around, Molly lays herself down, curling up on her side facing away from him. It'd be hard to look him in the face if the song gives anything away, but then....how could he deduce the contents of her dream. She hears rustling and it sounds like he set the phone down. The bed dips slightly as he comes to lay behind her and surprisingly an arm wraps around her waist.

"Molly?" 

"Yes?"

"What is it about that song? What could possibly make you cry in your sleep?" He asks softly, but part of her just wants to say that he knows. He's always known. 

"Mary told me," He continues when she makes no move to reply. "that you told her you couldn't sleep when she asked why you looked so tired. By the look on her face, I'd wager it was my fault." 

"What I dre--Why I can't sleep, it isn't your fault." Molly manages to whisper, covering his hand with her own. 

"Im the reason for many bad things that have happened to you, Molly Hooper. This time, however, I'm ready to rectify my mistake, if you'll have me...If you can trust me." 

"What are you saying, Sherlock?" 

"Something I've been waiting to say for...well, I was waiting for the right time. Our problem has always been one of timing hasn't it?" 

Molly feels his nose nuzzle her hair and she tenses slightly. 

"What...what do you mean a problem of timing?" 

"What were you dreaming about that has you crying every night?" 

"You answer first." Her brows furrow as she curls up smaller, feeling Sherlock pressed to her back. 

"Molly...." He sighs, gathering her closer and laying his cheek against her head. 

"It's you, all right?" She mutters with a sigh, pulling the blanket to her chin and keeping her eyes squeezed shut. "I-I fell asleep listening to that," She waves a hand absently towards her mobile. "And well, I had this dream and there's you...and you make me promise I'll wait and you disappear and I--"  
The words and the description of detail are hard to get out. It's silly really, the more she thinks about it the sillier it gets.  
"I don't know why it upsets me."

"Because you love me. You want me to love you. It's all you've ever really wanted from me and to have a glimpse of it only for it to slip away..." He says, quickly filling the silence. The arm that had been wrapped around her front had shifted to rest on her hip. She slowly became aware of his hand moving in small circle attempting to comfort her.

"If I told you I did...Would it ease your mind?" 

"If you told me you did what?" She asked, all the strength and volume lost from her voice. 

"That I do," He let out a sigh and shifted again to let his hand rub up and down the length of her side. "I do in fact love you, Molly Hooper." 

Molly lay in shock, tensing for a moment before sagging and leaning back towards him. "Is that why you're here?" 

Sherlock's hand stopped in it's tracks and he pulled her closer. 

"I had a case. Well, Mary gave me a case." 

Molly turned in his arms and faced him, quickly wiping at her face. "You got a case from Mary and that's why you're here?" Her eyes hardened as she looked up at him. 

"Just a moment, I do have an explanation." 

"You always do." Molly let out a sighed, her head sinking further into her pillow. 

"It's a personal case and the investigation required me to visit the crime scene and seeing as I am the prime suspect--" The corners of his lips quirked up into a barely there smile as Molly lifted her head. 

"Me? You mean I'm--" 

"I was trying to make a joke. Do pay attention, Molly." 

"Don't make jokes, Sherlock. It's really not your area." She muttered, wiggling forward and hiding her face against his chest while he snickered softly. 

"Made you laugh though, didnt it?" 

"No." 

"Molly?" 

"Yes?" 

"This whole thing might not be my area, but I'm sure you were supposed to say something." 

Molly lifted her head up, his hand cradling it close. She searched his face for a few moments, finding warmth in his eyes and a gentle smile on his lips. As the silence continued, Sherlock lifted his brows in askance, waiting patiently for her. 

A smile slowly pulled at her lips, everything having finally sunk in. "You mean it, don't you?"

"Molly Hooper..." He scolded. 

"I know, I just...I'm making sure because you know just how much I love you." Molly watched as every single feature on his face lit up. His eyes twinkled down at her through the dimly lit room as his face inched closer.  
"One more time." 

"What?"

"You know what I mean." 

"You first."

The words seem to roll of his tongue now without hesitation. 

"I love you, Margaret Jane Hooper." 

Pressure wells behind her eyes and she tries as best as she can to keep what tears she has left in.

"I love you too, William Sher--" The words get caught in her throat, but there's a sudden determination in his eyes and Sherlock finally closes the distance between them, pressing his warm lips to hers. 

There will be plenty of other times for her to finish the sentence, but she guesses he heard enough for just then because she'd been waiting a long time for him to come good on the promise.


End file.
